


Mad As A Scottish Hatter:  Return to the Funhouse

by TheCapaldianEmpress01



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Peter Capaldi - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Scottish Actor RPF, Twelfth Doctor - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Mental, Multiple Personalities, Psychology, and the mad hatter?, gone off his head awhile ago, nuttier than squirrel poo, peter needs a mister huffle for this lot, peter went round his own personal 'funhouse', seriously bonkers, twelfth doctor is out of his mind, weird memory wipes/lapses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCapaldianEmpress01/pseuds/TheCapaldianEmpress01
Summary: Going back to the funhouse......but, not everyone remembers what happened the first go round.He's mad...out of his mind.Yes, completely.And that, is just the Doctor.Bring a friend to the funhouse.Always.Be careful who you wish for.





	1. Fade Out

The years went by quickly. So quickly, most never noticed, and those who did, just went on as if nothing had changed.

Because, it hadn’t for them. Not really.

And so, the world kept turning, the universe kept its natural course, and nothing much happened anywhere.

To anyone else, except one person, and she did notice the years as they flew by. She would always notice regardless of anyone else around her…

Ivy Rose Duncannon noticed things, people(some), places. All of it. Nothing escaped her.

Well, almost nothing did.

Things. People(some). Places. She operated on autopilot where those were concerned. They were always there, always within reach.

But the one thing that escaped her?

Memories.

Not all of them, mind, just a few, and one in particular. That one was fleeting, never there for more than a few moments, and gone just as quickly. Almost as if it were a figment of her imagination, and not something real and tangible. 

He was part of that fleeting memory, that dim nightmare that often times woke her from sleep, and left her shaking and restless. What did it all mean?

No, the correct question was thus,

Why?

Why him? 

Why did this man, that she had never met before, haunt her dreams? Even her waking moments. And why, did it always leave her feeling like she had lost something very important? 

Or rather, someone?  
It made absolutely no sense. She had never met him. She knew who he was, but so did many others. It was virtually impossible not to know who he was, unless you’d been living under a rock for the last few years, without access to media of any description.

Peter Capaldi.

Im-fucking-possible.

Every time she saw him in some way, or heard his voice, something in her brain clicked into place, and everything around her dissolved back into that fleeting memory. She never remembered it, never could recall any of the finer details, and never, no matter how hard she tried, could remember anything he said. Just the sound of his voice. Just the soothing, honey smooth tone of that lush Scottish accent.

It was always just the sound of his voice…no words recalled from the dimly lit corridors of the mind, no details of anything he said.

Just the sound.

That is, until something very odd happened on Christmas Day.

Christmas Special.

That wasn’t it.

The Series 10 Doctor Who trailer. That’s when she heard it. Those eight words reverberating inside her head, pulling her right back into that haunting memory.

‘Are you out of your mind?’

That was what led into it…

She heard that bit many times…after all, he’s the Doctor...

‘Yes, completely…’

She shuddered.

She shuddered again. She could not only hear his words now, but she could see him clearly in her mind’s eye. She could feel him looking at her. Somewhere she could hear a clock chiming the hour…

...five...six...seven…  
The memory began to dissolve again, to fade out into the screaming darkness of the universe.

...eight...nine…

But, he was very clear in her head. She could see him. Hear him saying those words.

...ten...eleven…

“No, fuck!” she hissed between clenched teeth.

...twelve.

‘...but, that’s not a recent thing...’

He smiled slowly.

‘...right, Ivy?’


	2. Madness By Any Other Name

“Actor?”

“Yes, but…”

She nodded slightly, scribbled briefly on her notepad, and looked back up at him. 

“Working?”

“Yes, but…”

She cut him off again.

“Good, good.”

Peter Capaldi leaned forward in the chair, flapped one hand at the woman across from him, and huffed tiredly.

“Yes and yes! We’ve covered all of that, Dr. Brobeck.”

Her brows knitted together thoughtfully.

“Of course we have, Mr. Capaldi, but you know as well as I do, it’s simply a reminder, a mere refresh of the memory.”

“Yes, I know that.” he huffed again.

Dr. Brobeck studied him for a moment, nodded, and scribbled again in her notebook.

“Indeed you do, but you also need to keep reminding yourself of that one particular aspect of yourself. ‘I am an actor. This is my career.’”

Peter nodded.

“And, I do that every fucking day. I am a fucking actor!”

“You don’t sound so sure of that.” 

He ran his fingers thru the silver curls of his hair, and shook his head slowly.

“No. No, I’m not so sure about it. I use to be, but now? Now, I’m not even sure who I am, let alone what I am.” 

Once more, the doctor scribbled something in the notebook, muttering a bit under her breath, scribbled more, and seemingly satisfied with it, looked up at him. 

“Let’s try again, shall we?”

He sighed heavily, merely nodding his consent.  
“Going back to the beginning, exactly when did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

Peter shrugged.

“Well...I suppose awhile ago.”

Dr. Brobeck shook her head.

“Definite answers, Peter. An exact time frame of events, will allow me to help you more thoroughly. If you continue to avoid answering my questions truthfully, that cannot happen. It wastes your time, as well as mine. Neither of us wish to do that.” 

Peter grumbled something incoherent.

She eyed him quizzically, then flipped back several pages in her notebook. 

“About the time your marriage began to collapse.” 

She said it as more of a statement, rather than a question.

“Yes.”

“And, after that collapse?”

Peter shrugged again.

“It got worse.”

She nodded.

“Now, explain exactly the events that took place.”

“My marriage failed.” 

“Yes, what caused that to happen, Peter?”

He stared at her for a long time before finally answering. 

“This.” He pointed at his head.

“Mmhm, and what was going on in your head, that caused this to happen?”

“Voices.” He answered curtly.

“How many voices?”

“Besides my own?” 

Dr. Brobeck nodded.

“Two others.” Peter replied.

“Who do those voices belong to?”

Peter grinned faintly.

“The Doctor, and the Mad Hatter.”

“How did they cause your marriage to break down?”

Peter laughed coolly at this.

“They didn’t. Singular. He did.”

Dr. Brobeck looked up at him.

This was new. 

“He?”

“Yes, he...him, the Doctor.”

Oh yes, this was definitely new. Before, when she had asked Peter this exact question, he had always answered it with they, meaning both the Doctor and the Mad Hatter. They had been the cause of his failed marriage. They were the reason he was here.

Now, the answer was singular.

The Doctor.

Despite this new development, she stood by her original theory, or rather, diagnosis, as to what was wrong with him. She looked down at what she had wrote weeks ago.

Peter Capaldi. 58 years of age. Actor. 

Three dissimilar alters/identities.

Himself(Peter)

Mad Hatter(? No known reasoning as to why this one exists)

The Doctor(iconic science fiction character; television series ‘Doctor Who. Mr. Capaldi portrays 12th Doctor)

These alters are the cause of his(his opinion….professional opinion? Agreed.) eventual marriage breakdown. Subsequent inability to forge relationships,romantic or platonic thereafter. 

Blackout periods(shortest: several hours...longest: 1 week, 2 days). Unable to recall many details of what happened during these periods, though able to remember some:

Ivy Rose Duncannon. Age unknown. Occupation unknown. Relationship to Mr. Capaldi, girlfriend(?)...lover(most likely relationship?). Still with.

 

She looked up at him. He was gazing sadly out the window at the snow falling, and seemed deep in thought.

“Peter?”

He turned his head slightly, but didn’t look at her.

“Hm?”

You said, that the Doctor was the primary cause of your marriage failing. Am I correct in assuming, he came to the surface on a frequent basis, and this caused your ex-wife to leave?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Yes, you did say that?”

He shifted a bit in the chair, then laughed slowly.

“Yes, he said that…”

Dr. Brobeck jotted a few words in her notebook. She stared at him hard.

“He? You mean, the Doctor?”

He laughed again, then turned fully to look at her. 

“No, I most certainly do not mean the Doctor! Why would I mean that?!”

“Well, you said he was the primary cause of the marriage failing, and…”

He glared at her coldly.

“What? He? No,no no!! I am the Doctor! And yes, I was the primary cause!”

Her eyes widened at this. He had shifted so quickly, and so smoothly, she hadn’t seen it happen. So quickly in fact, that she hadn’t noticed when his eyes had changed...the colour, normally a soft grey-blue, had changed to an icy storm colour. Peter’s usual soft stare, was now replaced with a wild, wide-eyed shifty gaze.

She also, hadn’t noticed his inability to remain still, even while seated. He normally spoke with his hands, but when a shift occurred, his hand movements became more exaggerated. 

Then there were the slight head twitches. She had noticed those, but she had been too focused on getting Peter to answer her questions, for it to have registered.

“You call yourself a doctor?! Where did you get your license?!” He bellowed at her, his brow drawn so tight and deep, he looked like a demented owl.

“Now Mr. Capaldi, let’s not be so nasty.” she wagged a finger at him.

His face hardened.

“Why do you keep calling me by the caretaker’s name?! I am not, Mr. Capaldi! I’m the Doctor!”

“I see. Why do you, Doctor, not wish to be called by his name?”

The Doctor scowled at her.

“He’s lasagna.”

“He’s...wait, what?”

He pointed a long, slender finger at her.

“He is,” the Doctor said it slowly, and spelling it out, as if speaking to a dimwitted child, “lasagna...L-A-S-A-G-N-A.”

Dr. Brobeck shook her head at this.

“How so?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

“You humans really are pudding brains! My dear, awkwardly shy caretaker, is lasagna because he’s a limp noodle. If it wasn’t for me, he’d never get anything done.”

“You are his backbone, so to speak?”

The Doctor stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“How do you call yourself a doctor?! Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Ah, and why did you feel the need to kill his marriage?”

The Doctor jumped from the chair, and began pacing rapidly back and forth in front of the window. After a few moments of this, he came to a stop in front of her. She noticed he was unable to stand completely still.

“It was terribly boring! Boring is so not me!” He bounced restlessly back and forth, jabbing his index fingers at her as he spoke. “I don’t do boring. I’ve planets to see and save, monsters to rid from those same planets. Honestly, I couldn’t drag that idiot around with me, acting like a very awkward limp noodle! So, that boring, lasagna home life of his, simply had to go.”

“Ah, I see.” Dr. Brobeck scribbled in her notebook.

The Doctor stopped and looked at her.

“Again, how do you call yourself a doctor?! I don’t even have a medical license, and I…”

“Are rather very nasty, really.” She glared at him icily.

“How dare…you...nasty?! He sputtered indignantly. “I’m leaving! Must locate the TARDIS...nasty? Pudding brained human!” He barked at her as he thrust himself towards the door.

“Two hundred metres north, I should think.” Dr. Brobeck said calmly thru clenched teeth.

He stopped, looked at her, and glared.

“And, what’s there?”

“Your TARDIS, Doctor. Oh, and a river.”

“River?”

She rose from her chair, pushing back her hair coolly,and coming to stand beside him, hand on the door.

“Go jump in it, Doctor.”

His eyes widened.

“What?!” He snarled as she shoved him out of her office.

“Good day, sir.” She hissed, slamming the door in his face.


	3. Off His Head

“This is not a blasted river!” 

The Doctor glared back over his shoulder at the huge stone home that doubled as Dr. Brobeck’s office. 

“It’s a mere lake! Rather a large one, but definitely not a river!”

For the better part of an hour, the Doctor had been angrily pacing the stone footbridge that hovered over the not river, and glaring at the house. Several people who had the misfortune of crossing the bridge during his verbal berating, simply shook their heads, eyed him worriedly and hurried on. They were certainly not inclined to engage him for any reason whatsoever.

“Pudding brains!” he bellowed as they rushed by him. One unlucky young man made the mistake of deciding to stop and offer help.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

The Doctor stared at him.

“Of course I’m alright?! Why do you ask? Why wouldn’t I be alright?!”

“But…”

The Doctor muttered what sounded like gibberish to the man.

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

“I am alright!”

The young man looked at him for a long time, nodded, shrugged his shoulders and moved on, leaving the Doctor to his angry grousing.

“Why do they keep asking me if I’m alright? Why wouldn’t I be alright? I’m fine, always fine. That’s me, perfectly fine.” He mused as he stopped in the center of the bridge, and took in the scene on the other side of the definitely not river.

‘Are you really?’ the voice in his head queried suddenly, nearly sending the Time Lord over the edge.

“What?!”

The voice chuckled softly.

‘Are you, my dearest Doctor, really as fine as all that? Honestly, you sound like a gibbering idiot to the humans around you.’

The Doctor shook his head vigourously. A woman and her elderly companion stared at him in concern, whispering and pointing at him.

“Emma, you know who that is?” the younger woman pointed again.  
“Of course I do, Sharon. Peter Capaldi. Plays the Doctor on the telly.” the aforementioned Emma replied. 

“Seems a bit strange. I wonder if he’s alright?”

“Why do you say that? Rather a handsome man, if you ask me.”

Sharon shook her head quickly.

“Acting right peculiar. Handsome, yeah, but he’s not acting normal. Seems a bit strange, all mad like even.”

Emma turned her full attention to the silver-haired, wild-eyed man pacing about on the bridge. She watched him for a moment.

“Well, as I’ve said before(she really hadn’t said it before, but her companion didn’t need to know that), all those actors who play the Time Lord, all go batty after a while.”

Her companion shook her head slightly at this.

“Really? I never heard of that happening before. But…” she stared at the man. “I guess so.”

Emma nodded.

“They’re all batty.”

“The actors?”

“Yes, them too. But, I’m referring to the Doctor himself. ALL of them are batty, but this one? Oh, what number is he again?” She scratched her head in concentration.

“Twelve” Sharon answered.

“Oh yes, twelve. This one is particularly batty. Bonkers, off his head, went round the twist without so much as a by your leave! I think they made him that way on purpose, makes for a grand viewing.”

“Poor man.” Sharon remarked.

“Poor man, yes, but damn is he ever a looker! I’d do him.” Emma stated flatly.

“Emma!”

“What? He is gorgeous, mad yes, but worth looking at.”

Sharon shook her head. She studied the fluffy silver haired man who was now vigourously shaking his head, looking for all the world as if he wanted to punt the first person to bother him. She had to agree with her companion, he really was a very good looking man. And, Scottish. Lethal combination right there.

Oh, and let’s not forget he was now apparently off his head.  
Mad. Bonkers. Batty. 

It happens. 

The Doctor looked over at the two women. They were staring hard at him. He shook his head more vigourously.

‘They think you’re mental, Doctor.’

“Oh shut up.” He ran his fingers through the fluffy silver hair.

‘Now, now…’

“I said,shut up!” The Doctor eyed a man with a very red beard, who was fishing(and singing at the top of his lungs...Galway Bay? What?)at the edge of the lake. The man looked up, glared at him menacingly, and returned to fishing(singing).

‘Batshit crazy.’ the voice piped up again. ‘Honestly, they don’t believe you’re the Doctor!’

“And just why not? That’s who I am!’

The voice in his head laughed.

‘Well, for one thing, you are not the Doctor. You, my friend, are the actor, Peter Capaldi. He only plays the Doctor on television,’

The Doctor grimaced deeply.

‘I am the Doctor! I’m from Gallifrey, Time Lord etc, and I save shit from other shit…’

‘Nope.’

He frowned.

‘Yes, I am!”

The voice sniggered loudly in his head.

“No, you are not. You are Peter fucking Capaldi! Get that through that thick skull of yours! You are an actor! You are not a Time Lord!’

The Doctor cringed, hugging his jacket closer round himself.

“I’m the Doctor. Time Lord…”

The voice said nothing at first(thank heavens!), but after only a brief pause(damn!), replied once more.

‘No, you are not. You are Peter Capaldi. From Glasgow, Scotland. Fifty-eight years of age, born 14 April 1958. Artist, musician and actor. Human.’

“But…” 

The voice sighed softly.

‘Doctor, you do not exist outside his head on his off days. You only have life when he gives it to you, and only when the cameras are rolling.’

“I see, but…”

‘And, when he has need of you beyond those cameras.’

“I have to exist! I just have to!’

“Oh Doctor, you do exist. Just not separately from him…’ the voice hesitated briefly.

‘From, me.’ it said.

The Doctor muttered darkly.

“Oh you had me there, Caretaker!”

‘Well duh, have to keep you on your toes,don’t I? Honestly, Doctor, what do you take me for?’

The Doctor chuckled slightly.

“My annoying lasagna, that’s what.”

The Caretaker laughed heartily at this.

“Wow, you really are nasty, just like our doctor said.”

“What’s that make you?”

‘Whatever I damn well want to be, I guess.”

A tiny, nasty smile tugged at the Doctor’s lips. 

“Oh good, we’ve been just about everything in the universe, haven’t we?”

‘We? No, me. You are a character that I play. End of story.’

The Doctor’s smile grew darker, nastier.

“Really now? Well, as I see it Caretaker, Peter, I know what it makes both of us.”

‘And, what’s that, Doctor?’ Peter, the Caretaker, asked.

The Doctor laughed slowly.

“I’ve been running about, in your body no less, causing all sorts of havoc…”

‘Yes.’

“And, the pudding brained humans keep staring, pointing and well, shaking their heads at me…”

Peter’s raspy voice grumbled from inside his head.

“And, muttering about my mental competence…”

‘Yes, but what does that make both of us, Doctor?’

The Doctor’s smile was deadly.

He laughed nastily.

“Crazy, that’s what.”

Peter groaned.

‘You really are nasty, you know that, right?’

“I’m not the one having a full on conversation out loud with myself, while calling myself the Doctor, now am? Well alright, I am, but so are you, Pete my boy!”

‘Oh get over yourself! You’re just nasty.’

The Doctor snorted.

“Be glad I didn’t go Mad Scottish Hatter on you! Talk about nasty…”

Peter grumbled.

‘I’m the Caretaker, I say which of us gets out to play…’

The Doctor ignored this.

“Talk about nasty…” he circled his right ear with a finger a few times.

‘Are you even listening to me?!’

“You’re really awful when you’re the Scottish version of the Mad Hatter...oh my god…I’m embarrassed  
to be associated with you!”

‘Shut the fuck up, you fucking fool!’ Peter hissed loudly. 

“Oh! Oh! Going all Malcolm Tucker on us now, are you?!”

He could feel Peter literally vibrating with quiet fury.

“Ha! Maybe, we ought to try him on for size? What fun that would be…”

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

The Doctor grinned evilly.

“Oh wouldn’t I?”

‘Don’t you fucking do it, Doctor! Please, you wouldn’t do this to us?! You just can’t fucking do this!’

The evil grin grew.

“Try me.”


	4. Shakespeare House

For a long time, the Doctor and the Caretaker went back and forth in what appeared to be a very one-sided conversation. Those who witnessed it, and who knew exactly who Peter Capaldi was, seemed very startled by it, and kept their distance.

Emma and Sharon, on the other hand, watched intently, almost as if it were a fascinating new programme on the Beeb, one where it was incredibly difficult to look away from, yet at the same time, also incredibly difficult to keep watching.

Not to mention, incredibly sad, too.

They kept watching just to see what would unfold next, and in due course, they were rewarded with a new development. 

Emma had turned her attention to the far end of the bridge, humming and deep in thought, when two young women exited from the huge stone house, and hurried over the bridge to where the wild eyed actor was standing.

She chuckled slightly.

“Well, that’s that.”

Her companion stopped her knitting, and looked at her.

“What’s what?”

Emma grinned.

“See those two young ladies there?”

Sharon looked over to the bridge, just as another very animated conversation started. Both women were blonde, both rather young, and both very much in the way of authoritative figures. The younger of the two had put her hand on the man’s shoulder, and was very gently massaging it. If this motion was meant to soothe him, it seemed to be having the reverse effect. He now looked far more agitated than anything.

After a while, Sharon nodded.

“Yes, I see them.”

Emma tilted her head a bit.  
“Alright. And, do you know what this place is?”

Sharon had dropped a couple stitches, and was cursing the offending knitting, when her companion asked this.

“Is that important, or what?”

Emma looked at her.

“Obviously it is, or I wouldn’t have asked. Now, do you know what this place is, or not?”

“A home office of sorts.”

“Yes, but how many home offices are this bloody huge?”

“Er…”

“Hmm, ok...do you know the name of this house?”

Sharon shook her head, and continued to undo the dropped stitches.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Shakespeare House, my dear.”

“And? What of it?” Sharon asked.

“Merlin’s beard, you are a right daft idiot! Shakespeare, as in William, as in the Great Bard, as in ACTORS!! Really, you need to keep up with these things!”

Sharon looked up at her.

“Ah, I see. What’s that have to do with Mr. Capaldi?”

Emma rolled her eyes so hard, for a moment it looked as if they’d pop out the back of her head.

“Seriously?!”

“Erm, yes.”

“He’s a bloody actor! He’s done Shakespeare if I recall correctly, but that really isn’t what I’m referring to here. The house is Shakespeare House. Founded in the year 1790 by one of his descendents. Now, do you know why?”  
Sharon’s gaze went to the bridge. She watched as the two young women were trying to maneuver the wild eyed man back across it, and back into the house. It was quite clear, that he was having none of this, and seemed to be cursing and fighting their attempts. After a moment, the red bearded man who had been fishing, yet also quietly watching the proceedings above him, stood up, cast his fishing pole aside, and made his way to the top of the bridge. He came to stand behind the actor, arms crossed, and looking very much like a prizefighter.

And, to Sharon, it was very obvious that this man was the enforcer, whereas the women were the caregivers. What the prizefighter looking man was about to enforce in this situation, she couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Well, do you know why?” Emma asked again, once Sharon’s attention returned to her.

“Er, for acting, I assume.”

Emma rolled her eyes again.

“Not the acting, but for the actors themselves.”

“Ok?”

“Merlin’s beard! Do I need to go in depth for you to finally understand what I’m getting at?”

“That would be helpful, Emma. I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

“Shakespeare House was founded to help actors who, for lack of a better term, were off their heads, bonkers, completely mad, mental, batty, not in their right minds…”

“I get it, Emma…”

“...done gone round the funhouse one too many times, and without proper supervision.” Emma concluded snarkily.

“Again, I get that Emma. What does this have to do with him?” she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the bridge.

“Doctor Brobeck is a world renowned authority on this type of thing. She specialises in cases such as Mr. Capaldi…”

“Ok.”

“Especially, Mr. Peter Capaldi, if you know what I mean.”

“No, actually I don’t know what you mean.”

Again, Emma rolled her eyes.

“Doesn’t matter, really. He just happens to be her most famous case, that’s all. Anyway, Doctor Brobeck’s office, and living quarters, are at this end of the house. See the far end in the distance, just beyond the yew trees?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea what that particular wing is used for?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Sanctuary for those actors who went round that funhouse, my dear. Those two young ladies are the doctor’s assistants…”

“I see. And, that red bearded man?”

“Ah, him...that’s the doctor’s husband.”

“What’s his position?”

“Enforcer. Guard. Groundskeeper. Bodyguard to those two on that bridge with Mr. Capaldi. The youngest one, the one with the long blonde hair with the violet streaks, that one is the bearded man’s niece.”

“Good to know, I guess.” Sharon dropped another stitch, and cursed under her breath.

“Yes. Anyway, that far wing is home to actors who need round the clock care. It houses only the most severe cases, and then, only two at a time. At present, there are two living there…”

“Who, and how do you know so much about this?” Sharon looked at her companion questioningly.

Emma chuckled.

“See the other blonde?”

“I do.”

“You know I have a daughter, right?”

“Of course I do. Just never seen her before.”

“Well, now you are seeing her. That one there, is my daughter, Crystal. She keeps me well informed on the goings on at Shakespeare House, and it is much appreciated.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Remember, I said there are two residents living in that house at the moment?”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Capaldi is one, and my nephew, Kiernan, is the other. Both actors, but only the one is famous.”

“And, Crystal keeps you informed on both of them?”

“That she does.”

“Isn’t that a breach of conduct or something? Talking about the private details of their cases to an outsider...isn’t that illegal?”

“Don’t be daft! Crystal keeps me informed about my nephew and his progress, I’m family, so that’s perfectly alright. Now, as for Mr. Capaldi...well, Crystal only keeps me up to date about his well being, and that’s all. Though, from time to time, she hears things, and might on occasion, let those details slip. Still, I know very little about his particular case, other than he suffers from what was once called, multiple personality disorder. Called some new name now, but still the same thing. That’s why he’s here.”

Sharon grinned.

“Sounds awful! The poor man…”

“Apparently, he actually does believe he is the Doctor. Could be the reason behind his failed marriage that the papers made such a fuss about. Might also explain, why he chose to leave the show?”

“You think so?”

Emma shrugged at this.

“Who knows? His reasons are his own, and none of my business. Or, anyone else's for that matter. Still, I wonder…”

Sharon nodded gravely.

“Poor man.” she said again.

“Sad when you are such a tremendously gifted actor, as well as an artist, and you end up here. Ah well, he’s getting the help he needs, from gifted doctor. At least, not many people know about Shakespeare House...well, not anyone one who isn’t in the business, that is.”

“That’s good.”

“I’ll say it is. If the damned papers got wind of him being here, they’d have a field day with it. ‘Former Doctor Who COMMITTED to insane asylum!’ ‘Nuttier than squirrel poo he is! Failed marriage sends Twelfth Doctor to Loony Bin!’ That sort of rubbish even I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Best that they just leave him in peace.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s in much peace right now…” 

Emma turned to look at the bridge. At some point, something had happened(obviously), and the wild eyed Mr. Capaldi(no longer in Doctor mode)was now very unconscious on the ground. She watched as the bearded man crouched down, scooped the prone figure into his arms, and had now started back over the bridge to the house. The two young women remained in deep conversation for a moment, before they too, followed him to the house. Everything was now quiet over the definitely not river.

Emma shook her head.

“Sad.” she muttered.

“Agreed, very sad.” Sharon replied.

“Batty as fuck, and very sad, but…” Emma smiled slowly, and winked. “I’d still do him!”

“Emma!”

“What?! Might be sad, but he’s a looker! And, can’t say it’d be dull…”

“Emma, really...the man is obviously very sick, and you’re making inappropriate remarks about fucking him.” Sharon admonished her companion.

“Guess you’re right…” Emma looked back at the house for a moment, then turned back to Sharon. “Still want to do him, but if you’re so up in arms over me saying that, would me saying I’d like a cuddle with him, make it more appropriate?”

Sharon stared at her in disbelief.

“I give up! You are hopeless.”

“Hopeless yes, but not batty.”

“Shut up.”

Emma laughed, and returned her gaze to the far end of Shakespeare House. If she couldn’t say it out loud, who said she couldn’t dream about shagging him senseless six ways to Sunday and back again?

No one, no one at all.

Poor man.


	5. The End Is Near

Chapter 5: The End Is Near

Doctor Brobeck was seated at her desk, scribbling in a large leather book. Across from her, was a young girl with violet streaked blonde hair, and restless, wide blue eyes. The flecks of green and gold in those wide eyes, spoke volumes about her.

Considering, in the good doctor’s opinion, the girl spoke very little about herself in general, preferring instead, to speak of her mother.

And, the silver, fluffy haired man at the far end of the house.

The girl cleared her throat loudly, causing Doctor Brobeck to scribble right off the page, and onto the blotter beneath.

She grunted and looked up.

“Yes, Abby?”

The girl shook her head slowly. A long strand of blonde hair fell over her right eye.

“I was saying, he obviously does not remember my mother.”

Doctor Brobeck nodded.

“Most likely, he doesn’t, Abby. It happens.”

“Yes, so you keep telling me at our sessions! It’s like she suddenly ceased to exist to him! Like she was nothing but a figment of his imagination!”

Doctor Brobeck sighed, pulled her glasses off, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. In the last year, she had had numerous sessions with Abby, and they all seemed to centre round this particular fact. Not to mention, all the sessions she’d had with the girl’s mother, and, the sessions with Peter Capaldi. The girl remembered the man. The mother only remembered him as the actor on a science fiction television programme, and nothing beyond that.

But, Peter?

The poor man had trouble remembering who he, himself, was, let alone anyone else. When Doctor Brobeck had brought up the name Ivy Duncannon, there had been no recognition of the name. At least, not during the first couple of their sessions. But, somewhere during the third or fourth ones, when she had brought up the name again, there had been a faint flicker of a memory. It had been brief, but it had been there. 

Why didn’t he remember Ivy Duncannon?

Something had happened, of that she was sure, but what? And, why didn’t Ivy remember Peter?

Shared traumatic experience, perhaps? 

And yet…

The young girl seated opposite her, did remember. 

Doctor Brobeck was shaken out of her thoughts by Abby banging her fist on the desk.

“He met her less than one year after he divorced! One fucking year! And he suddenly forgets her?! That’s impossible!”

She banged her fist on the desk again, causing the framed photos to bounce ominously.

“Abby, really…it happens. Some sort of traumatic experience happened to Mr. Capaldi at that point, he couldn’t help what he forgot.” Doctor Brobeck straightened one of the picture frames before it fell.

Abby glared coldly.

“That’s bullshit, Aunt Shan.”

“Perhaps you think so, but it happened to him. He was at the beginning of filming his second series for Doctor Who so…”

At the mention of the name, Abby rolled her eyes so hard, Doctor Brobeck thought they’d come out of her ears. 

“Yeah, so what?”

“He was filming constantly. Sometimes, five, six days a week. Plus, promoting Doctor Who…”

Again, the rolling of the eyes.

“So?”

Doctor Brobeck grinned slightly.

“So, he was very much likely tired, fatigued, physically. And, mentally and emotionally fatigued.”  
Abby muttered under her breath.

“And?”

“Abby, he was working and promoting constantly, which is a fair amount of stress, even for a younger man. Couple that with his very nasty, very public, divorce, a divorce he wasn’t entirely over yet at the time, and it would cause a huge traumatic experience for anyone.”

Abby muttered more.

“But…”

Doctor Brobeck shook her head and rubbed at her eyes again.

“But what, Abagayle?”

“He’s been here since late February, early March of this year, right?”

“Yes.”

“He was going back and forth from here, at Shakespeare House, to Cardiff for filming, right?”

“For filming of his last series as the Doctor, true.”

“He can barely remember my mother, let alone who he is, but you allowed him to go film a fucking TV show?”

Doctor Brobeck cringed.

“He had supervision, Abby. I was there to keep an eye on him, should anything happen…” She once more rubbed her eyes, albeit quite a bit harder this time. “Where exactly are you going with this line of inquiry?”

Abby’s blue eyes narrowed. When they did, the action furrowed her brow so deeply, she looked like a furious owl.

It made her look very much like her father.

The man who did not remember her mother.

The man who did not remember her.

And, the man who could barely remember himself, let alone anyone, or anything else.  
The man who lived quietly,but not peacefully, at the other end of the house.

“He fucking thinks, no believes, he’s the Doctor! Always having bizarre conversations with himself about it! I mentioned my mother to him, and instead of Peter answering me, I all I got was this bloody Doctor bullshit!”

Doctor Brobeck’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh my god, Abby, you didn’t?!”

“Why shouldn’t I? He seduced my mum and promptly threw her away!”

“Oh Abby, he’s a very sick man, why would you do such a thing?! 

Abby’s mouth opened, but before she answer, there was heavy knock at the door.

Doctor Brobeck rubbed her eyes again. A headache was ghosting behind them now, and the knock made her cringe.

“Enter!” she grunted.

The door opened slowly, and a shock of fluffy, silver hair appeared around it.

“Sorry, have I interrupted anything?”

Both the doctor and Abby looked up, clearly startled. Peter studied them for a moment.

“Oh, guess I have.”

Doctor Brobeck rose from her chair, came round the desk, and ushered him in. The headache that had been merely ghosting before, suddenly took full, corporal form.

“No, of course not.” She glanced at Abby briefly.

He looked from her to Abby, grinning shyly.

“A session?”

“Yes, but we’re finished for today.” Again, she glanced at Abby, before shaking her head. “What can I do for you, Peter?”

For a moment, he said nothing.

“Peter?” Doctor Brobeck touched his arm lightly.

His gaze had come to rest on Abby. He stared hard at her.

“You!” he shouted excitedly.

Abby’s eyes went as wide as tea saucers.

“Me? Uh, what about me?”

Doctor Brobeck touched his arm again.

“Mr. Capaldi, is everything alright?”

“I know you…” He ignored the doctor’s question.

Abby grinned faintly.

“Well no shit, I’m your fucking carer!”

“Abby!” Doctor Brobeck hissed through clenched teeth. The headache was now throbbing menacingly.

Peter simply smiled his most beautiful smile.

His daughter’s exact same smile.

“True, but that’s not what I meant, sweetie.”

Abby’s brow furrowed more at this term of endearment.

Furious owl.

Just like dad.

“And what, exactly, did you mean?”

Peter tilted his head.

“You’re his daughter.”

Doctor Brobeck’s jaw dropped, as did Abby’s.

A memory? But, exactly whose memory was it?

His or the Doctor’s?

“Peter...is this one of your memories?”

He turned and looked at the doctor. 

“Partially mine, but more the Doctor’s.” His gaze shifted back to the girl staring in angry shock at him. “He allows me the memories when he sees fit, though I didn’t need him to tell me who she was. I already knew.”

“What?!” Abby jumped from her chair to stand in front of him. “You mean to say, all this fucking time, you knew exactly who I was, and didn’t fucking bother saying you did?!”

“Yes.” Peter leaned forward a bit, folding his six foot self to meet her on her level. “I mean, I kind of guessed who you were, but I didn’t know for sure. At least, not until the Doctor kept me awake for two days going on about it.”

Abby glared hard at Peter.

“Okay, so now you know? Who am I, then?”

Peter glanced at Doctor Brobeck, who had commenced to rubbing her eyes vigourously again.

“Oh do tell, Mr. Capaldi.” She waved at hand in his direction wearily.

Peter shrugged.

“Well, obviously you are his daughter…”

“His? Don’t you mean, yours?”

Peter shook his head quickly.

“Oh no, no...I’m just his host. I go where he goes…”

Abby laughed abruptly.

“Fucking christ, you are mental…”

Peter eyed her questioningly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re his host?”

“Yes.”

“You go where he goes?”

“Well, of course…”

She laughed shrilly.

“Oh my god, of course you are his host, and no shit you go where he goes! You’re the same fucking person! In the same fucking body! I knew you were mental, but jesus fucking christ, this is fucking bizarre, even for you.”

The smile on Peter’s face vanished quickly, and was replaced by a deep scowl. 

“Shit.” Doctor Brobeck inhaled deeply.

Abby shot her an angry look.

“Shit, what?”

“He’s shifted, that’s what.”

Abby looked confused for a moment.

“Shifted? What the fuck…”

“Oh Abby, you really shouldn’t have been so damned rude…”

“Rude?!” Abby sputtered.

“Yes, rude...shifted...your verbal tirade made him shift personalities!”

“What the fuck do you mean? Who’s he going to be now?”

Peter stood glowering at her, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

He looked like a furious, demented owl.

Doctor Brobeck came to stand behind Abby, her hands resting lightly on the girl’s shoulders. She laughed softly.

“I do believe, you’re about to finally meet your dad.”

Abby’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at this.

“Oh my god…”

“Well, the alien who claims he’s your father, but you and I both know it’s vastly more complicated, don’t we?”

“Wait, what?”

“Mmm, well, you know how conception works, but being as the Doctor is merely a split personality of his host, he can’t actually be your father…”

“Er…”

“That particular role was Peter Capaldi’s, and Peter Capaldi’s alone.”

“But…?”

“Physically his role, I mean. He had shifted personalities with the Doctor, so…”

Abby’s eyes narrowed.

“Peter’s my dad?”

“Biologically, yes.”

“But,he doesn’t know that?”

“Exactly. He believes, thanks to the Doctor here…”

The Doctor smiled knowingly.

“...that the Doctor is your father. You don’t exist to Peter beyond being his carer.”

“Oh that’s fucking great...I’ve a shifty, poofy haired angry alien for a father?”

At this, the Doctor laughed loudly.

“Good girl, my beautiful pudding brain! I chose well, when I chose her mother.”

Abby glared furiously at him.

“Oh good for you, Doctor Fucking Disco! I’d rather Peter claimed me as his kid…”

“Abby…” Doctor Brobeck cautioned.

“Don’t Abby fucking me, Aunt Shan! This daft fool doesn’t give a damn for me! At least Peter, is a sweetheart, and actually cares about my mother, even if he barely remembers her! Doctor Fucking Disco here…” she shook herself violently, before continuing. “Fuck it all, I’m out of here!”

“Abby!” 

“Don’t, just don’t. When you get Peter back, come find me. He’s the one I want to talk to, not this Gallifreyan mad hatter.”

“Oh, she’s feisty, just like Ivy Rose. Yes, I chose my mate well.” His Scottish accent deepened as he spoke.

Abby glared at the Doctor.

“Oh, that’s so wrong, Doctor.”

“He tilted his head slightly.

“How so?”

“You didn’t choose my mum, Peter chose her….”

“Let’s not quibble over the details.”

“He chose her and she chose him. That’s how it really is...even if they can’t remember each other. But, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Doctor?”

“I would?”

“It was all your fault, really…”

“What was my fault?”

“Them forgetting each other.”  
“How’s that my fault?”

“They found each other when both needed someone. Butoh, you couldn't have that,now could you? Peter and Ivy...happy...they made love...I happened because of that love….no, you couldn’t have that kind of happy. You made run from her, made him disappear...after awhile, they both forgot, until one day he started to remember...he ends up divorced because you suddenly had to have the spotlight, and told his fucking wife he’d slept with my mother!”

The Doctor’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

“And then, to seal the entire fucking deal, you made him batshit crazy! He ends up here, with my Aunt as his doctor,and lo and behold, his own fucking daughter as his carer! His younger, second daughter, I should add. He doesn’t even know who I am, thanks to you! Oh, but just you wait, Doctor Fucking Disco! He will…”

Both the Doctor and Doctor Brobeck stood gobsmacked by this.

“Abby…”

“No, Aunt Shan...I’m finished here. When Peter comes back...set up a session with both of us…”

“And?”

“And, make sure this daft alien is kept under lock and key.”

“I’m not daft, and you can’t keep me locked up!”

“”Oh yes, she can. And, she will. You’ve caused enough trouble in my dad’s life, don’t you think? Just for the record, Doctor, you can bloody well fuck off.”

They watched as she stormed from the office, slamming the door hard behind her.

“Well, I could’ve done worse…”

Doctor Brobeck turned and glared furiously at him.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Office!”

The Doctor yelped in surprise.

“How dare you!”

“And, as of right now, you will get out of Peter, and leave him be! I do not want to hear you again, do you understand me?!”

“I...you...this is…” he snarled.

“Get out!”

“You are an idiot!”

“So are you!”

“You can’t keep me from this! I am the Doctor! I’m her father!”

She stared him down coldly.

“Not when Peter finds out.”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t…”

“Who would?” the Doctor snapped.

“You.”


End file.
